


blood and destruction shall be so in use

by Murf1307



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Riot - Freeform, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:16:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bahorel and Enjolras.  Adrenaline and revolution go very well together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blood and destruction shall be so in use

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for villainyandgoodcheekbones because my dash has been flooded with B/E today.

They’re not exactly expecting it when it happens. 

I mean, it’s pretty clear that they’re both fucking gorgeous men. Enjolras is built like a statue of an Ancient Greek athlete, all perfect slender proportions, and he’s got a fucking pretty face and lips that, okay, Bahorel may or may not have imagined wrapped around his cock once or twice. Could you blame him?

And Bahorel, dear _god_ , Bahorel is miles and miles of inked skin over fucking steel muscle, and it’s definitely not Enjolras’s fault that he’s always kind of wanted to be covered over and fucked ‘til he can’t stand by somebody who looks like Bahorel. You can’t blame him, either.

So when they get the fuck away from a riot-gone-wrong, glass shattering and molotovs blasting away behind them, setting the block on fire, it’s nobody’s fault that Bahorel shoves Enjolras against a brick wall in a little alleyway that hardly even fits the both of them. It’s nobody’s fault that he growls into Enjolras’ mouth and pins him there, big hand wrapped around one of Enjolras’s surprisingly bony wrists.

And it’s nobody’s fault that Enjolras goes fucking limp under him, like it’s the only thing in the world he ever wanted. Bahorel ruts against him, and they both go from zero to ninety in much less than a minute, Enjolras spreading his legs so Bahorel can slide between them and hitch them around his waist.

They don’t say anything, just grunts and moans to the tune of the distant sounds of mayhem in the block they left behind, and they grind against each other like it’s what they were made for, sex and destruction.

Someday, they’re probably going to regret everything, if they don’t die first.

But here, where they wind up coming in their jeans like fucking teenagers, now, when they’re still high from escape —

Well, they’re on the fucking top of the world.


End file.
